Page 47 of An Affair with a Notorious Heiress
“There’s not much to tell,” Gina said, “although I’d dearly love a spot of brandy.”
After the drinks were poured, and they were sitting in opposite chairs, facing each other, Tillie asked, “I suppose you saw Rexton.”
Gina took a slow sip before saying, “Actually I didn’t. He wasn’t there.”
“Are you sure?” She couldn’t imagine it. “I didn’t think he’d be so cowardly as to avoid you.”
Her sister giggled. “I don’t think it was that. Apparently he’s rather scarce when it comes to balls. We may have overestimated his influence.” She held up her wrist, her dance card dangling from it. “I danced only twice tonight.”
“It’s not the number of dances that matters, but rather how much interest your partner shows.”
“One dance was with the host. While his attentiveness seemed genuine and he was incredibly polite, I have it on good authority that the Earl of Claybourne very much adores his wife. I also assume said wife would relieve him of his family jewels if he ever strayed.”
She couldn’t help but smile at that. She knew the Countess of Claybourne, had spoken with her on numerous occasions when she’d been accepted by Society. “There is that. The woman is no wallflower. But then how could she be when she tamed the Devil Earl? And your other partner?”
“The second son of a second son who seemed rather taken with the rumors regarding my inheritance.”
The disappointment hit her and she sank back into the chair. “But you were making such progress.”
“I think because people noticed I had Rexton’s interest, and now I don’t seem to have it, so there is speculation regarding the reasons behind his setting me aside.”
Tillie rose to her feet in a rush and began to pace agitatedly in front of the fireplace. “Damn the man to hell. He didn’t set you aside. You set him aside. Why must the woman always be blamed for everything?”
“I’m not certain he’s to blame—”
She came to an abrupt halt and glared at her sister. “If he hadn’t given you attention to begin with, you wouldn’t now be the object of gossip. Something unflattering is bound to be in the newspapers tomorrow.” She gave her head a hard shake. “This is my fault. I should have anticipated the message his absence would send.”
“Don’t be silly, Tillie. You can’t keep blaming yourself for my failure as a debutante.”
She could and she would. If she’d stayed married to Downie, she could have ensured her sister was accepted by Society. If she hadn’t wanted the temptation of Rexton removed from her life, Gina’s matrimonial prospects wouldn’t have disappeared. She’d acted far too hastily and impulsively to both circumstances, caring more for her own sanity than her sister’s wellbeing. She’d taken Gina under her wing when their mother died. Now the responsibility was even greater with their father gone.
Taking a deep breath, she returned to her chair, lifted the snifter of brandy, and swallowed a good portion of it. “I shall see the matter set to right.”
“How are you going to do that?” Gina asked, concern and worry etched clearly in her voice.
Tillie finished off the brandy, set the glass aside.
“What are you going to do, Tillie?” Gina drew out the question as though she were in no hurry to hear the answer, as though she already knew she wouldn’t like it.
“Not to worry. I won’t do anything foolish.” But it was high time she made use of her scandalous reputation. Otherwise, all she’d suffered was for nothing.
Chapter 9
The Nightingale Club
Tonight at 10
Rexton stared at the note his butler had just delivered. It wasn’t unusual for him to receive a missive such as the one he held—his membership at the club was widely known among those who knew of the place and in his youth he’d frequented the establishment quite often—but he’d grown weary of married women and widows in want of brief affairs. He was also accustomed to the notes being signed, or at least offering a hint as to whom he would be meeting for a rendezvous. “Who delivered it?” he asked Winchester now.
“Some scruffy lad. He wore no livery, and I didn’t see a coach or carriage about. The boy knocked at the servants’ door, handed it over, and scampered away as though fearing a hangman’s noose was about to drop about his neck.”
Rexton didn’t recognize the handwriting. It was neat, precise, and definitely feminine. He’d once received a letter written with a masculine hand—a gent trying to determine if Rexton had been having an affair with his wife. He’d wisely not gone to the club that night.
The Nightingale had been established years before as a place for unhappy women to find a moment of happiness. Usually he had an inkling as to whom he’d be meeting. The flirtation usually began elsewhere, but of late the only woman who’d garnered his interest was Lady Landsdowne.
He tapped his fingers on his desk. Was it possible she was summoning him? He nearly laughed aloud. She’d be glad to never set eyes on him again.
Like some besotted youth, he went to the park every morning before the lark trilled hoping to catch sight of her, but he always left disappointed. If she was still going for morning rides, she was doing it elsewhere. He wasn’t even certain if he saw her that he’d approach her. She’d no doubt put that pistol she carried to excellent use.
